


Arabella

by somepeoplearewild



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Genderswap, More plot than porn, Princes & Princesses, Religious Undertones, brief islamophobia, girl!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somepeoplearewild/pseuds/somepeoplearewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The horizon tries but it's just not as kind on the eyes as <em>Arabella</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arabella

**Author's Note:**

> "Arabella" - Arctic Monkeys
> 
> Just so we're all clear, this is probably the most inaccurate thing in the WORLD. I only researched the wedding customs, and I don't speak Arabic or Urdu. Also how do write sex???? Anyway, here it is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Queen looked up from her plate, the edges of her lips curled so slightly that one would have needed to be studying her face to detect the distaste she was feeling— which everyone at the table was when she looked straight at Zainab and spoke, "Marrying my son will surly take some adjustment. How is your English, dear?"

 

A hush swept through the dining hall as Zainab cooly finished her sip of wine, before slowly looking up to gaze at the Queen through her thick, black eyelashes. "I am fluent in seven languages including your own. I suppose that is one less adjustment I will have to make, your Majesty," she replied calmly, a coy smile gracing her pink lips.

 

"Wonderful," the woman smiled tightly.

 

"Indeed it is," King Payne cut in hastily. "How fortunate that our son will be wedded to a woman both beautiful and intelligent. We are truly blessed."

 

Zainab's father agreed and quickly changed the topic to how delicious his food was.

 

Zainab thought the food was shit but put off sharing her opinion in favour of making the Prince blush by fluttering her eyelashes at him from across the grandiose table. She stifled a laugh as the Prince's ears turned a violent shade of red and he ducked his head down. She supposed marrying him wouldn't be too awful— at least he wasn't Catholic _and_ ugly.

 

"You have a lovely home," she smiled finally, speaking at a volume which was only meant for him.

 

His face paled as he panicked then blurted out a response. "Thanks so are you... I mean—!"

 

Zainab nearly choked in shock, the strain of having to withhold her laughter causing her to become lightheaded.

 

"I am so sorry if I have offended you. It was not my intention to address you so boldly."

 

"You owe me no apology. How could I take offence to such a compliment?"

 

Zainab smiled, and the Prince returned it meekly.

 

And oh yes, Zainab was going to love making a man out of the boy in front of her.

 

[][][][]

 

To say Zainab was disgruntled was saying the very least. Her father thought it would be a good idea to have Zainab dressed in the style of the English women for her day spent with the Prince to demonstrate her universal beauty or something.

 

" _I am going to vomit_ ," she grumbled at her father in Urdu as he admired the work of the handmaidens who dressed her.

 

" _Zainab! Do not be so vulgar!_ " he scolded. "You look beautiful," he commented in English for the benefit of the anxious girls.

 

" _I cannot breathe, my stomach is being constricted, I am boiling in all these layers, yet your concern lies in my choice of words_."

 

" _Enough! You are too old to behave this way. If I have to bear giving my daughter to an Englishman, then you can bear wearing that dress for a few hours._ "

 

Zainab scowled and turned to the handmaidens. "Loosen me at once before I collapse!"

 

Her father rolled his eyes at her childish antics. "His Royal Highness will be waiting for you at the gardens entrance."

 

[][][][]

 

Zainab felt absolutely ridiculous sweeping heavily down the hall toward the Prince. Her long, obsidian hair had been braided and wrapped around her head so many times it looked like a hat, and her breasts were protruding stupidly from the top of her dress because she had refused to have the top of her corset tightened. The only vaguely amusing aspect of the situation was the way the Prince's eyes glazed over and he stared dreamily at her as she powered towards him.

 

"Good morning, your highness," the Prince said suddenly, snapping out of his daydream.

 

"Good morning to your Royal Highness as well. If I may ask, what is on our agenda today? Have you anything planned?"

 

"I was thinking we could discuss activities over lunch in the gardens," he replied nervously, not-so-subtly wringing his hands behind his back.

 

"Sounds perfect," Zainab smiled politely, letting him know that his effort wasn't wasted.

 

"In that case, may I escort you to the gardens?" the Prince asked with a bit more confidence, holding his arm out for Zainab to grasp gently, before leading her through sickeningly sweet flowers and fresh cut grass to a small pavilion where a small table with two seats was already set and waiting.

 

After they had been sitting for a few moments, the Prince spoke up. "If you don't mind me saying, you look absolutely stunning amongst the roses."

 

"I feel absolutely ridiculous," she replied mindlessly, before snapping back to reality. "Please excuse me for that. I did not mean to insult your country's fashion. I forgot where I was for a second. The atmosphere is distractingly beautiful."

 

"Nonsense. I'd like to get to know you today. If it's not a problem, that is. It just seems odd to know nothing about your betrothed."

 

Zainab watched the Prince as she pretended to ponder his request. She knew she couldn't say no and snub the Prince, but perhaps, if she could get him alone, then she could learn his true character. "On one condition."

 

The Prince nodded eagerly. "Yes, anything."

 

"That we are alone."

 

"Um... I-uh..." the Prince stuttered, clearly caught off guard by such a risqué request. "Don't you think that'd be... indecent?"

 

Zainab feigned offence, but she was secretly pleased on the inside. The fear of insult would give her enough leverage to get her way. She stood up and began adjusting her skirt. "Well, if that is truly what you think of my character-"

 

"No! Of course not!" the Prince panicked, standing up as if to stop the girl. "I have never doubted the integrity of your character. I was only worried about appearances, your Highness."

 

Zainab attempted more of a smile than a smirk. Oh how easily manipulated her husband-to-be was. She wouldn't be having any problems out of him. "Then, might your guards simply stand watch by the door of this beautiful library that I have yet to see?"

 

"Yes, that's perfectly fine," the young man nearly sighed in relief.  "I apologise."

 

[][][][]

 

"There must be one hundred thousand books!" Zainab cried out in delight, forgetting her usual poised pretence.

 

"They are mostly history," the Prince blushed, proud that something of his could elicit such a reaction from the Princess, but nothing he said in that moment could have possibly downplayed the monumental collection of books and scrolls in his castle's library.

 

Zainab strutted across the room as quickly as she could in her restricting attire. She quickly began to scan the spines of the books. "History contains the most valuable knowledge. What to do, what not to do, what has been discovered and what can be discovered next. I prefer philosophy and poetry myself, but I would have neither if history could not be observed." All the books in front of her were about Catholicism and Rome, entirely repulsive material to a Muslim and soon to be forced Catholic convert. Religion was never of utmost importance to Zainab, however Islam was an integral influence on her culture, and she was not particularly pleased at having to give it up for a political alliance. "Is there any fiction?"

 

"Yes, on the opposite wall."

 

Zainab fluttered to the other side of the room, knowing exactly what text she was in search of. When she finally found it, she plucked it from the shelf, humming satisfactorily to herself, " _Alf layla wa-layla_..."

 

"What was that?" the Prince asked from his seat on a decadent lounge at the centre of the room. The quality was far too brilliant to be of English craft, with the red velvet cushions and expertly carved legs and trim. It was probably Italian.

 

"One Thousand and One Nights," she smiled fondly down at the translated version of the book. Then, she looked up at the Prince, "Have you ever read this?"

 

He blushed again, embarrassed. "Not really, no."

 

"Good. I do not recommend any translated forms. Maybe one day, I can read it to you from the Arabic version so that none of the cadence and complexities are lost on the English language," Zainab simmered playfully, although she meant every word. She contemplated placing the book back on the shelf to go sit by the Prince, but something about holding a piece of her home was comforting, so she kept it in her hands as she sat down.

 

"If you don't mind my asking, how is it that you are so comfortable in English? Your knowledge of the language seems familiar not studied."

 

Zainab smiled, somewhat weighted by a poignant rush of good and bad memories. "My mother was actually English. It was a diplomatic marriage, but she and my father fit so well that one could hardly tell they had not married for love. She taught me to speak English while my father's country taught me to speak Urdu. We spoke in English every day until she passed when I was twelve, then I continued to study it so that I would not forget."

 

After a few silent moments, Zainab quickly composed herself. The conversation had gotten too personal too soon, but the Prince had a way of making her feel at ease. He was hardly as judgmental and callous as the other people she had encountered thus far in her new home. "Do you know any other languages?"

 

The Prince shook his head bashfully. "Not really. I can speak a small portion of French, but I'm better at Spanish, and I only know enough Latin for church. Shameful for a prince, I know," he chuckled nervously.

 

Seizing the opportunity as always, Zainab gazed up at the Prince under her  sweeping eyelashes, and spoke in such an innocent manner that her words became sensual— a deadly variation of her favourite tactic of persuasion. "You, my Prince, are anything but shameful." Zainab could practically hear his heart beat quicken, forcefully pounding against his chest with the sort of desire she knew he had not yet experienced.  The desire of being able to have what he wanted— but not yet.

 

"I, um." The boy stopped short, unable to form a complete thought with his brain absolutely melting under the intensity of her gaze.

 

"Yes?" she drawled out submissively. The Prince stumbled over a few more words, and Zainab thought he was going to pass out on the spot when she brought her finger up to his mouth to shush him. She ran her hand gently up his cheek, caressing the blushed skin there. "It seems as though our marriage is too far off. It is becoming harder to control myself, to refrain from touching you as a wife might touch her husband."

 

The boy gulped with wide eyes, completely enraptured by the beautiful creature before him. "I... I... I- want- you," he finally choked out between staggered breaths that fanned across the girl's face in their ever-shrinking proximity, the only words he could think. Temptation up to that point had been sleeping or playing or taking an extra dessert. It had never been human, and it had never wanted him back just as badly.

 

"Then have me."

 

The book slipped out of Zainab's lap as the young royalty suddenly pulled their bodies flush and pushed his lips against hers, desire burning so hot that the paper-filled shelves could have gone up in flames. The kiss was rough and passionate with hands scratching at skin and grabbing at hair, seventeen years worth of pent up sexual energy spilling over from both sides.

 

The Prince was licking and biting on her neck, and had navigated his hand under her skirt barely past her knee before Zainab retrieved some sense of reality.

 

"We can't!" she yelped suddenly, mindful of her volume with the guards right outside.

 

"Hm?" The Prince dazedly stared at the glowing angel beneath him as if he was under a spell.

 

Zainab pushed at his chest to get him off her, the action wiping the dopey look off the Prince's face. In fact, the dreamy smile was immediately replaced by a look of horror, as he sprung upright and began apologising profusely.

 

"Please forgive me! I-" The Prince turned blood red when he went to gesture and his hand caught on the inside of the princess' dress where it had been gripping her thigh. He quickly snatched his hand away and began smoothing the material back into place. "I had no intentions–!"

 

"Please, calm down, your Royal Highness!" Zainab snapped, tacking on the last part for good measure. "Nothing of any consequence has happened so long as nobody finds out. You're going to have to remain calm or else you will raise suspicion."

 

"But my lack of self-control has damaged your integrity."

 

"I suppose the same could be said about myself. All that we can do is keep this between us."

 

"But-"

 

Zainab began to get irritated as she noticed the pins in her hair had come loose in places and the Prince wouldn't shut up. "Do you want to marry me? Yes or no?"

 

"Yes, but-"

 

"Then you have to go about life as normal, or else His and Her Majesties will find out and call off the betrothal."

 

The Prince nodded in understanding.

 

[][][][]

 

Going about daily life for the next two weeks was easier said than done. The Prince found it increasingly difficult to sit at the table with his parents and Zainab's father, knowing the skin of the princess' thigh and the taste of her neck and the wetness of her lips— knowing the warmth of her soft little sighs on his lips and the sound of her quiet gasps in his ear. He was going absolutely mad with no respite from her allure, even in his dreams.

 

Zainab would have had the Prince in the palm of her hand had she not been awakened that day. Now, she was noticing the Prince's broad shoulders and lean, muscular physique. He was so tall compared to her and most other men as well. She knew the way that he could envelope her body so easily and take control if he really wanted to. She could no longer touch her neck without remembering and getting hot under her clothes. Whatever sense of control Zainab once thought she had was now levelled by the control the Prince could easily have over her.

 

Their sudden shifts in attitude had to have shown, but if they did, nobody said a word about it. Most talk as of late was about the fast approaching wedding.

 

Aside from getting to consummate the marriage, Zainab was also excited about her dress. She'd had a pivotal hand in its design, deciding to mix her traditional wear with the English traditions. She removed the long sleeves and added traditional beadwork and trim, but she chose blue fabric instead and was advised not to wear a dupatta but rather a simple veil.

 

What's a dress when the whole arrangement was unorthodox from the start with the exchange of rings ceremony completely dismissed and the betrothal period shortened? Zainab had met with a priest in private then received her ring on a small pillow in the room they allowed her. There was a short note written by the Prince detailing how enthused and honoured he was to accept her as his bride. Oddly, it was signed just 'Liam' with no titles or formalities.

 

Currently, the final fitting was taking place.

 

"Your hips are not wide enough," the designer said meanly. The groom's family was none too thrilled to hear that she had chosen a French company to construct the gown, but she would rather die than have her wedding dress made by the royal seamstress. Bless her soul, she was such a nice woman, but the same patterns tend to get old after a while.

 

"No, the dress isn't slim enough, _Onfroi_." Zainab made sure to spit his name at him as vehemently as possible to relay that she was none too happy to have accidentally selected an Islamophobic idiot, who didn't even seem to care that she had finished her conversion to Christianity recently and changed her name to Zayn to fully release her ties to Islam.

 

"You will never birth a child with these hips, twig," the man muttered under his breath, reluctantly pinning up the extra fabric on the sides.

 

"I'll also never have to sew other people's clothes for a living."

 

 _Zayn_ smirked as the man huffed in offence, clearly defeated.

 

[][][][]

 

Dealing with Onfroi was every second worth the look on the Prince's face when she joined him on the steps of the church the next day in her flowing blue dress. Short sleeves were not so popular in English fashion, but Zayn paid no mind to the looks she received because the only look that mattered was her Prince's as he gawked at her exposed summer-tanned skin.

 

For the first time in weeks, Zayn was allowed to wear her hair loose and flowing down to her waist. She had a few yellow peonies pinned into her hair and a string of matching yellow sapphires around her neck. Even through her veil she could still make out the blush on his cheeks. The King and Queen were both on the steps beside him, which made it that much more gratifying when his witch of a mother had to watch helplessly as Zayn married her only son.

 

At the feast, Zayn and the Prince jittered anxiously, both wishing to skip the celebration and move on to other festivities. They'd already spoken with their families, Zayn having had a particularly teary moment with her father, and they were well over the party's entertainment.

 

Zayn glanced at her husband, then had a terrible idea. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Only a few more hours until we can finish what we started in the library."

 

Zayn was growing fond of the bright red hue that always seemed to tint his cheeks in her presence. She gave him her most innocent smile when his head whipped to face her in shock.

 

"What?" she smiled deviously, unable to keep her innocent facade up when her body was buzzing with energy needing to be released.

 

The rest of the feast went on much like that with Zayn whispering 'sweet' nothings into the Prince's ear, working him up in the worst way possible.

 

[][][][]

 

With the garter chase over, the Prince slammed the door behind them and locked it, securing them from the crazy masses. It was only then that he noticed the handmaidens waiting patiently in the room to tend to the couple. Nearly unable to keep up his composed charade, the Prince opened a door on the other side of the room which led out into a service corridor. "Your services will not be needed." The confused servants filed through the opened door, ushered by the Prince, who locked that door after the last person had exited.

 

Zayn stood at the centre of the room, the beads and jewels on her dress twinkling in the candle light, and her signature smirk on her lips. "Now who is going to undo my dress and corset?"

 

Before Zayn could blink, the Prince was behind her, popping the buttons out of the holes on the back of her dress at a record speed. Teased and impatient and at his wits end, the Prince grabbed the small dagger he had concealed in his coat and sliced the strings of her corset all the way down. He let Zayn go and pulled off all his clothes while she wiggled her corset the rest of the way off and removed her stockings.

 

Zayn felt a tingle go up her spine when the Prince pressed his warm, bare chest against her back, reaching around to unknot the drawstring on her underpants. He sucked and bit at the delicate skin of her neck as he pushed the last of her clothes to the floor.

 

Zayn sucked in a breath when the Prince picked her up as if she weighed nothing and placed her on the bed. Zayn never imagined that simple action could make her skin feel so hot.

 

"Prince—" Zayn began to beckon as her new husband crawled over top of her.

 

"Liam. Just Liam, please."

 

"Liam," Zayn said for the first time, testing it out, and it could not have sounded more beautiful uttered by any other lips. "You may call me Zain, Liam." Zain gave Liam no time to respond, pulling his mouth down to hers.

 

The two nipped and sucked and licked each other's mouths until they were panting and desperate to get into each other's skin.

 

"Please– please, Liam, please..." Zayn whined into the air as Liam kissed down her chest and took her nipple into his mouth. Her skin erupted with goosebumps and she could not control the arch in her back or the primal noise that tore out of some deep, unused part of her throat.

 

" _Maihairbani_ ," she cried out when he bit down.

 

Liam released her nipple and stared at her in awe, panting and glistening against the black backdrop of her hair. He lined himself up with her slick opening, and watched Zayn bite down on her hand to stifle her sounds of pain.

 

"Shh, it's okay," he whispered into her skin once he was buried as far as he could go, but the stretch kept tears leaking out of her eyes, even after the majority of the pain subsided. "Please don't cry," he said quietly, wiping off her cheeks with the hand he wasn't using to balance above her.

 

"M'fine," she replied shakily. "It's just so much."

 

"I'm going to move now," Liam warned, in case his bride was not yet ready. He pulled back and pushed in slowly until her rigid form relaxed and her whimpers of pain melted into soft little mewls of encouragement in his ear.

 

" _Jii haaN_... _mera pyaar_... oh! _Liam_..."

 

Zayn knew she was rambling nonsense, but she couldn't stop with the way Liam was making her feel. It felt like she was being drowned in so many sensations and she was only able to make her little noises and claw at his arms and back with her dull nails while Liam's movements carried her off into a sea of ecstasy. It felt like she was on the edge of something looking down.

 

"You're so perfect, Zayn," Liam panted into her ear, on the edge of something as well. "You're so perfect, and you're mine.... You're all mine."

 

Something about Liam's words made Zayn gasp for air, suddenly taken by a force that sent tremors throughout her body and showed her stars. It was so unlike anything she'd ever felt, her dying whimpers drowned out by Liam's throaty groan as he spilled hot semen into his wife. "You're so perfect— so perfect," he whispered into Zayn's neck over and over as he came down from his high.

 

So the Princess ran her fingers through Liam's hair as they lied later on, humming the tunes of old lullabies into the candle-lit room, and she knew that she already loved him.


End file.
